Chapter VI: Part 6

We must remember that the Buddha had this discipline under his two Samkhya teachers and that even after his Enlightenment he made it a rule for his disciples to train themselves in the dhyana exercises. He himself retired into solitude whenever he had opportunities for it. This was not of course merely indulging in contemplation or in making the world reflect in the mirror of consciousness. It was a kind of spiritual training even for himself and even after Enlightenment. In this respect the Buddha was simply following the practise of all other Indian sages and philosophers. This however was not all with him, he saw some deeper meaning in the discipline which was to awaken the highest spiritual sense for comprehending the Dharma. Indeed, without this ultimate awakening, dhyana however exalting, was of no import to the perfection of Buddhist life. So we have in the _Dhammapada_, v. 372: “Without knowledge (_paññā_, _prajñā_) there is no meditation (_jhāna_, _dhyāna_), without meditation there is no knowledge: he who has knowledge and meditation is near unto Nirvana.” This mutual dependence of jhāna and paññā is what distinguished Buddhism from the rest of the Indian teachings at the time. Jhāna or dhyāna must issue in paññā, must develop into seeing the world as it really is (_yathābhūtaṁ_); for there is no Buddhism in meditation merely as such. And this was the reason why the Buddha got dissatisfied with the teaching of his teachers; it, to use his own words, did “not lead to perfect insight, to supreme awakening, to Nirvana” (_na abhiññāya na sambhodāya na nibbānāya saṁvattati_). To be abiding in the serenity of nothingness was enjoyable enough, but it was falling into a deep slumber, and the Buddha had no desire to sleep away his earthly life in a daydream. There must be a seeing into the life and soul of things. To him paññā or prajñā was the most essential part of his doctrine, and it had to grow out of dhyana, and the dhyana that did not terminate in paññā was not at all Buddhistic. The boat was to be emptied indeed, but staying in an “empty house” (_suññāgāraṁ_) and doing nothing is blankness and annihilation; an eye must open and see the truth fully and clearly, the truth (_paramaṁ ariyasaccaṁ_) that liberates life from its many bondages and encumbrances. (Majjhima Nikāya, 140.) Sings the _Dhammapada_ again (v. 373):

“A monk who has entered his empty house, and whose mind is tranquil,
Feels a more than human delight when he sees the truth clearly.”

* * * * *

As thus the aim of the dhyana exercises is to prepare the mind for the realisation of the paramasacca which destroys and liberates, and as the truth is realisable only by the awakening of the parama-paññā which is the knowledge (_ñāṇa_) that puts an end to all misery (_sabbadukkha_), the Buddha never fails to duly impress the importance of paññā on the minds of his disciples, for instance, in his general disciplinary scheme given to them under the three headings: śīla (morality), jhāna (meditation), and paññā (intuitive knowledge). Whatever supersensual pleasures one may experience in the jhāna exercises, the Buddha considered them to be far short of the ultimate goal of Buddhist life, every one of such pleasures had to be abandoned as it would entangle the mind and interrupt its ascending course to the awakening of paññā. It was through this awakening alone that the consciousness of emancipation or going back to one’s original spiritual abode could be attained. And by emancipation the Buddha meant to be free from all forms of attachment, both sensual (_rūpaṁ_) and intellectual (_viññānaṁ_). So says he in the Majjhima Nikāya, 138: Let not thy mind be disturbed by external objects, nor let it go astray among thy own ideas. Be free from attachments, and fear not. This is the way to overcome the sufferings of birth and death.

As long as there is the slightest trace of attachment anywhere, outwardly or inwardly, there remains the substratum of selfhood, and this is sure to create a new force of karma and involve us in the eternal cycle of birth-and-death. This attachment is a form of obsession or illusion or imagination. Nine of such self-conceited illusions are mentioned in the Nikāyas, all of which come out of the wrong speculations of selfhood and naturally lead to attachment in one way or another. They are the ideas that “I am,” “I am that,” “I shall be,” “I shall not be,” “I shall have form,” “I shall be without form,” “I shall have thought,” “I shall be without thought,” “I shall neither have thought nor be without thought.”[f67] We have to get rid of all these _maññitams_, arrogant, self-asserting conceptions, in order to reach the final goal of Buddhist life. For when they are eliminated, we cease to worry, to harbour hatred, to be belabouring, and to be seized with fears,—which is tranquillisation (_santi_), and Nirvana, and the seeing into the reality and truth of things. When paññā is awakened in us, morality is abandoned, meditation left behind, and there remains only an enlightened state of consciousness in which spirit moveth as it listeth.

The well-known simile of the raft (_kullūpamaṁ_)[f68] which may seem somewhat unintelligible to some of the Buddhist critics who are used to an altogether different “intellectual landscape,” is a good illustration of the Buddhist teaching of non-attachment. The teaching, “Kullūpamaṁ vo bhikkhave ājānantehi dhammā pi vo pahātabbā, pageva adhammā,” (Like unto a raft all dharmas indeed must be abandoned, much more un-dharmas!), is really the most fundamental keynote running through the whole course of the history of Buddhist dogmatics. The philosophy of Prajñāpāramitā which is considered by some quite deviating from the spirit of primitive Buddhism is in no way behind in upholding this doctrine of non-attachment, for instance, as we see in the _Vajracchedikā Sūtra_. In fact, the theory of Śūnyatā as expounded in all the Prajñā-sūtras is no more than philosophising on the doctrine of non-attachment.[f69] The _Vajracchedikā_ has:

“Tasmad iyaṁ thathāgatena sandhāya vāg bhāshi kolopamaṁ dharmaparyāyam ājānadbhir dharmā eva tā prahātavyāḥ prāgeva adharmā.”

The simile itself runs as follows (Majjhima Nikāya, 22):

“In the simile of a raft do I teach my doctrine to you, O monks, which is designed for escape, not for retention. Listen attentively and remember well what I am going to say. Suppose that a man coming upon a long journey finds in his way a great broad water, the hither side beset with fears and dangers, but the further side secure and free from fears, and no boat wherewith to cross the flood nor any bridge leading from this to the other shore. And suppose this man to say to himself: Verily this is a great and wide water, and the hither side is full of fears and dangers, but the further side secure and free from fears; and there is neither boat nor bridge to take me from this to that further shore. How if I gather some reeds and twigs and leaves and bind them together into a raft; and then, supported on that raft, and labouring with hands and feet, cross in safety to that other shore! Accordingly, O monks, suppose this man to gather together reeds and twigs and leaves and branches and bind them all together into a raft, and launching forth upon it and labouring with hands and feet, attain in safety the other shore. And now, the flood crossed, the further shore attained, suppose the man should say: Very serviceable indeed has this my raft been to me. Supported by this raft and working with hands and feet, I am safely crossed to this other shore; how now if I lift the raft up on my head or lay it upon my shoulder, and so proceed whithersoever I wish! What think ye, O monks? So doing, would this man be acting rightly as regards his raft?

“Nay, verily, O Lord!

“And what then ought this man to do if he would act rightly as regards the raft? Thus, O monks, ought the man to consider: Truly this raft has been serviceable to me! Supported by this raft and exerting hands and feet, I am crossed in safety to this further shore. How now if I lay this raft up on the bank or leave it to sink in the water and so proceed upon my journey? So doing, O monks, the man would be acting rightly as regards his raft.

“In like manner also do I teach my doctrine to you in the simile of a raft, which is meant, O monks, for escape and not for retention. Understanding the simile of the raft, O monks, you must leave dharmas behind, how much more un-dharmas!”[f70]

The teaching of the Buddha may now be summed up as follows: Seeing things thus or “yathābhūtam” is the same as the attainment of perfect spiritual freedom; or we may say that when we are detached from evil passions based upon the wrong idea of selfhood and when the heart grows conscious of its own emancipation, we are then for the first time fully awakened to the truth as it really is. These two events, seeing and being freed, are mutually dependent, so intimately that the one without the other is unthinkable, is impossible; in fact they are two aspects of one identical experience, separated only in our limited cognition. Paññā without jhāna is no paññā, and jhāna without paññā is no jhāna. Enlightenment is the term designating the identification-experience of paññā and jhāna, of seeing “yathābhūtam” and abandoning the dharma-raft of every denomination. In this light should the following be understood:

“Therefore, O monks, whatever of matter (or body, _rūpaṁ_) there is, whether of the past, of the future, or of the present time, whether internal or external, whether coarse or fine, mean or exalted, far or near, all matter (or body) is to be regarded as it really is, in the light of perfect knowledge (_sammāpaññā_), thus: ‘This is not of me,’ ‘This am I not,’ ‘This is not my Self.’ So with the rest of the five aggregates (_khaṇḍa_): _vedanā_ (sensations), _saññā_ (concepts), _sankhāra_ (formative principle), and _viññānaṁ_ (consciousness). One who thus seeing the world turns away from the world is truly freed from evil passions and has the consciousness of freedom. Such is called one who has the obstacles removed, trenches filled, one who has destroyed, is free, one whose fight is over, who has laid down his burden, and is detached.”[f71]

In short, he has every quality of the Enlightened, in whom the will and the intellect are harmoniously blended.

VI

Ignorance is departure from home and Enlightenment is returning. While wandering we lead a life full of pain and suffering and the world wherein we find ourselves is not a very desirable habitat. This is however put a stop to by Enlightenment as thus we are enabled once more to get settled at home where reign freedom and peace. The will negates itself in its attempt to get an insight into its own life, and dualism follows. Consciousness cannot transcend its own principle. The will struggles and grows despondent over its work. “Why?”—the intellect asks, but it is the question no human intellect can ever hope to solve; for it is a mystery deeply inherent in the will. Why did the Heavenly Father have to send his only child to redeem the creation which was his own handiwork and yet went further astray from its home? Why had Christ to be so dejected over the destiny of the erring children of God? This is an eternal mystery, and no relative understanding is made to grapple with these questions. But the very fact that such questions are raised and constantly threaten one’s spiritual peace shows that they are not idle metaphysical problems to be solved by professional philosophers, but that they are addressed directly to one’s inmost soul, which must struggle and make effort to subdue them by a higher and deeper power native to itself—far higher and deeper than mere dialectic of cognition.

The story of the prodigal son[f72] is such a favourite theme both for Buddhists and Christians, and in this do we not discover something eternally true, though tragic and unfathomable, which lies so deep in every human heart? Whatever this may be, the will finally succeeds in recognising itself, in getting back to its original abode. The sense of peace one finds in Enlightenment is indeed that of a wanderer getting safely home. The wandering seems to have altogether been unnecessary from the logical point of view. What is the use of losing oneself if one has to find oneself again? What boots it after all—this going over from one to ten and from ten to one? Mathematically, all this is nonsensical. But the spiritual mystery is that returning is not merely counting backwards so many figures that were counted before in a reverse way. There is an immense difference here between physics and psychology. After returning one is no longer the same person as before. The will, back from his excursion through time-consciousness, is God himself.

In the _Vajrasamādhi Sūtra_,[3.4] Bodhisattva Apratisthita[3.5] asks the Buddha why the father was so unkind as not to recall his wandering son before fifty years expired, to which the Buddha answers, “Fifty years is not to be understood as indicating time-relation here; it means the awakening of a thought.” As I would interpret, this means the awakening of consciousness—a split in the will, which now, besides being actor, is knower. The knower, however, gradually grows to be the spectator and critic, and even aspires to be the director and ruler. With this arises the tragedy of life, which the Buddha makes the basis of the Fourfold Noble Truth. That pain (_duḥkha_) is life itself as it is lived by most of us, is the plain, undisguised statement of facts. This all comes from Ignorance, from our consciousness not being fully enlightened as to its nature, mission, and function in relation to the will. Consciousness must first be reduced to the will when it begins to work out its “original vows” (_pūrvapraṇidhāna_) in obedience to its true master. “The awakening of a thought” marks the beginning of Ignorance and is its condition. When this is vanquished, “a thought” is reduced to the will, which is Enlightenment. Enlightenment is therefore returning.

In this respect Christianity is more symbolic than Buddhism. The story of Creation, the Fall from the Garden of Eden, God’s sending Christ to compensate for the ancestral sins, his Crucifixion, and Resurrection—they are all symbolic. To be more explicit, Creation is the awakening of consciousness, or the “awakening of a thought”; the Fall is consciousness going astray from the original path; God’s idea of sending his own son among us is the desire of the will to see itself through its own offspring, consciousness; Crucifixion is transcending the dualism of acting and knowing, which comes from the awakening of the intellect; and finally Resurrection means the will’s triumph over the intellect, in other words, the will seeing itself in and through consciousness. After Resurrection the will is no more blind striving, nor is the intellect mere observing the dancer dance. In real Buddhist life these two are not separated, seeing and acting, they are synthesised in one whole spiritual life, and this synthesis is called by Buddhists Enlightenment, the dispelling of Ignorance, the loosening of the Fetters, the wiping-off of the Defilements, etc. Buddhism is thus free from the historical symbolism of Christianity; transcending the category of time. Buddhism attempts to achieve salvation in one act of the will; for returning effaces all the traces of time.

* * * * *

The Buddha himself gave utterance to the feeling of return when his eye first opened to the Dharma unheard of before at the realisation of Enlightenment. He said: “I am like a wanderer who, after going astray in a desolate wilderness, finally discovers an old highway, an old track beaten by his predecessors, and who finds, as he goes along the road, the villages, palaces, gardens, woods, lotus-ponds, walls, and many other things where his predecessors used to have their dwellings.”[f73] Superficially, this feeling of returning to an old familiar abode seems to contradict the statement made concerning “an insight to things never before presented to one’s mind”; but the contradiction is logical and not spiritual. As long as the Buddha was going over the Chain of Origination from the epistemological point of view, that is, as long as he attempted to get back to his native will through the channel of empirical consciousness, he could not accomplish his end. It was only when he broke through the wall of Ignorance by the sheer force of his will that he could tread the ancient path. The path was altogether unrecognisable by his intelligent eye which was one of the best of the kind; even the Buddha could not ignore the law governing its usage; the Chain was not to be cut asunder by merely reckoning its links of cause and effect backward and forward. Knowledge, that is, Ignorance drove Adam from the Garden of Eden to the world of pain and patience (_sahaloka_), but it was not knowledge that would reconcile him to his Father, it was the Will dispelling Ignorance and ushering Enlightenment.

The sense of return or that of recognising old acquaintances one experiences at the time of Enlightenment is a familiar fact to students of Zen Buddhism. To cite one instance, Chih-I (530–597)[3.6] who is generally known by his honorary title as Chih-chê Tai-shih,[3.7] was the founder of the T‘ien-tai school of Buddhist philosophy in China. He was also trained in meditation by his teacher Hui-szŭ (513–577)[3.8] and though not belonging to the orthodox lineage of the Zen masters, he is reckoned as one. When he came to the master, he was set to exercise himself in a Samadhi known as “Fa-hua San-mei” (_saddharma-puṇḍarkīa-samādhi_).[3.9] While exercising himself in it, he came across a certain passage in the Sutra, and his mind was opened, and he at once realised the statement referred to by his master, which was this—that he with the master personally attended the Buddha’s congregation at the Vulture Peak where the Buddha discoursed on the Sutra. Then said the master, “If not for you no one could see the truth: and if not for me no one could testify it.” It is often remarked by Zen masters that the holy congregation at the Vulture Peak is still in session. This however ought not to be confounded with the remembering of the past which is one of the miraculous gifts of the Buddhist saints. It has nothing to do with such memory, for in Enlightenment there are more things than are implied in mere time-relations. Even when the _Prajñāpāramitā-sūtras_ expressly refer to one’s previous presence at the discourse on the subject, this is not a form of mere recollection; the understanding is not a psychological phenomenon, the prajñā goes much penetratingly into the depths of one’s personality. The sense of return to something familiar, to the one thoroughly acquainted with, really means the will getting settled once more in its old abode, after many a venturesome wandering, with an immense treasure of experience now and full of wisdom that will light up its unending career.

VII

It may not be altogether out of place here to make a few remarks concerning the popular view which identifies the philosophy of Schopenhauer with Buddhism. According to this view, the Buddha is supposed to have taught the negation of the will to live, which was insisted upon by the German pessimist, but nothing is further from the correct understanding of Buddhism than this negativism. The Buddha does not consider the will blind, irrational, and therefore to be denied; what he really denies is the notion of ego-entity due to Ignorance, from which notion come craving, attachment to things impermanent, and the giving way to the egotistic impulses. The object the Buddha always has in view and never forgets to set forth whenever he thinks opportune, is the Enlightenment of the will and not its negation. His teaching is based upon affirmative propositions. The reason why he does not countenance life as it is lived by most of us is because it is the product of Ignorance and egoism, which never fail to throw us into the abyss of pain and misery. The Buddha pointed the way to escape this by Enlightenment and not by annihilation.

The will as it is in itself is pure act, and no taint of egotism is there; this is awakened only when the intellect through its own error grows blind as to the true working of the will and falsely recognises here the principle of individuation. The Buddha thus wants an illumined will and not the negation of it. When the will is illumined, and thereby when the intellect is properly directed to follow its original course, we are liberated from the fetters which are put upon us by wrong understanding, and purified of all the defilements which ooze from the will not being correctly interpreted. Enlightenment and emancipation are the two central ideas of Buddhism.

The argument Aśvaghosha puts into the mouth of the Buddha against Arada (or Ālāra Kālāma), the Samkhya philosopher, is illuminating in this respect. When Arada told the Buddha to liberate the soul from the body as when the bird flies from the cage or the reed’s stalk is loosened from its sheath, which will result in the abandonment of egoism, the Buddha reasons in the following way: “As long as the soul continues there is no abandonment of egoism. The soul does not become free from qualities as long as it is not released from number and the rest; therefore, as long as there is no freedom from qualities, there is no liberation declared for it. There is no real separation of the qualities and their subject; for fire cannot be conceived apart from its form and heat. Before the body there will be nothing embodied, so before the qualities there will be no subject; how, if it was originally free, could the soul ever become bound? The body-knower (the soul) which is unembodied, must be either knowing or unknowing; if it is knowing, there must be some object to be known, and if there is this object, it is not liberated. Or if the soul be declared to be unknowing, then what use to you is this imagined soul? Even without such a soul, the existence of the absence of knowledge is notorious as, for instance, in a log of wood or a wall. And since each successive abandonment is held to be still accompanied by qualities, I maintain that the absolute attainment of our end can only be found in the abandonment of everything.”[f74]

As long as the dualistic conception is maintained in regard to the liberation of the soul, there will be no real freedom as is truly declared by the Buddha. “The abandonment of everything” means the transcending of the dualism of soul and body, of subject and object, of that which knows and that which is known, of “it is” and “it is not,” of soul and soul-lessness; and this transcending is not attained by merely negating the soul or the will, but by throwing light upon its nature, by realising it as it is in itself. This is the act of the will. An intellectual contemplation which is advocated by the Samkhya philosophers does not lead one to spiritual freedom, but to the realm of passivity which is their “realm of nothingness.” Buddhism teaches freedom and not annihilation, it advocates spiritual discipline and not mental torpor or emptiness. There must be a certain turning away in one’s ordinary course of life, there must be a certain opening up of a new vista in one’s spiritual outlook if one wants to be the true follower of the Buddha. His aversion to asceticism and nihilism as well as to hedonism becomes intelligible when seen in this light.

* * * * *

The Majjhima-Nikāya’s account of the Buddha’s interview with the Samkhya thinkers somewhat differs from the Mahayana poet’s, but in a way gives a better support to my argument as regards the Buddha’s Enlightenment. The reason why he was not satisfied with the teaching and discipline of Ālāra Kālāma and Uddaka is stated to be this: “This doctrine does not lead to turning away, to dispassion, to cessation, to quietude, to perfect penetration, to supreme awakening, to Nirvana, but only to attainment to the Realm of Nothingness.” What did then the Buddha understand by Nirvana which literally means annihilation or cessation, but which is grouped here with such terms as awakening, turning away (that is, revaluation), and penetration, and contrasted to nothingness? There is no doubt, as far as we can judge from these qualifications, that Nirvana is a positive conception pointing to a certain determinable experience. When he came up to the bank of the Nairañjanā and took his seat of soft grass on a shady, peaceful spot, he made up his mind not to leave the place until he realised in himself what he had been after ever since his wandering away from home. According to the _Lalita-vistara_, he at that moment made this vow (_praṇidhāna_):

“Let my body be dried up on this seat,
Let my skin and bones and flesh be destroyed:
So long as Bodhi is not attained, so hard to attain for many a kalpa,
My body and thought will not be removed from this seat.”[f75]

Thus resolved, the Buddha finally came to realise Supreme Enlightenment for which he had belaboured for ever so many lives. How does this vary from his former attainments under Uddaka and Ālāra Kālāma? Let him express himself:

“Then, disciples, myself subject to birth, but perceiving the wretchedness of things subject to birth and seeking after the incomparable security of Nirvana which is birthless, to that incomparable security I attained, even to Nirvana which is birthless.

“Myself subject to growth and decay, but perceiving the wretchedness of things subject to growth and decay and seeking after the incomparable security of Nirvana which is free from growth and decay, to that incomparable security I attained, even to Nirvana which is free from growth and decay.

“Myself subject to disease, but perceiving the wretchedness of things subject to disease and seeking after the incomparable security of Nirvana which is free from disease, to that incomparable security I attained, even to Nirvana which is free from disease.

“Myself subject to death, but perceiving the wretchedness of things subject to death and seeking after the incomparable security of Nirvana which is deathless, to that incomparable security I attained, even to Nirvana which is deathless.

“Myself subject to sorrow, but perceiving the wretchedness of things subject to sorrow and seeking after the incomparable security of Nirvana which is sorrowless, to that incomparable security I attained, even to Nirvana which is sorrowless.

“Myself subject to stain, but perceiving the wretchedness of things subject to stain and seeking the incomparable security of Nirvana which is stainless, to that incomparable security I attained, even to Nirvana which is stainless.

“Then I saw and knew: ‘Assured am I of deliverance; this is my final birth; never more shall I return to this life!’”[f76]

When Nirvana is qualified as birthless, deathless, stainless, sorrowless, and free from growth and decay and disease, it looks negativistic enough. But if there were nothing affirmed even in these negations, the Buddha could not rest in “the incomparable security” (_anuttaraṁ yogakkhemaṁ_) of Nirvana and been assured of final emancipation. What thus the Buddha denied, we can see, was Ignorance as to the true cause of birth and death, and this Ignorance was dispelled by the supreme effort of the will and not by mere dialectic reasoning and contemplation. The will was asserted and the intellect was awakened to its true significance. All the desires, feelings, thoughts, and strivings thus illuminated cease to be egotistic and are no more the cause of defilements and fetters and many other hindrances, of which so many are referred to in all Buddhist literature, Mahayana and Hinayana. In this sense the Buddha is the Jina, Conqueror, not an empty conqueror over nothingness, but the conqueror of confusion, darkness, and Ignorance.

HISTORY OF ZEN BUDDHISM FROM BODHI-DHARMA TO HUI-NENG (YENO)
(520 A.D.–713 A.D.)

HISTORY OF ZEN BUDDHISM FROM BODHI-DHARMA TO HUI-NENG (YENO)
(520 A.D.–713 A.D.)

My intention here is not to make a thoroughly critical and scientific study of the history of Zen Buddhism; for this presupposes some knowledge of the development of Buddhism in China, and there are, as far as my knowledge extends, no text-books on the subject, which are accessible to readers of this book. The main object of the present Essay will therefore be to acquaint them first with the traditional history of Zen as it is told by its followers both in Japan and China. Its critical investigation will follow when readers are in a degree prepared for the task.

The traditional origin of Zen in India before its introduction into China, which is recorded in Zen literature, is so mixed with legends that no reliable facts can be gathered from it. In the days when there was yet no critical study of anything and when things, especially relating to religion, were believed in a wholesale manner, we could not expect anything else. It may now be too late to try to unravel the mysteries enveloping the origin of Zen in India except in a general and logical way from the historical facts already known concerning the development of Mahayana Buddhism. In fact, Zen Buddhism, as was already discussed, is the product of the Chinese mind, or rather the Chinese elaboration of the Doctrine of Enlightenment. Therefore, when we want to narrate the history of Zen, it may be better in some respects not to go to India, but to stay in China and study the psychology and philosophy of her people and the surrounding conditions that made it possible for Zen to achieve a successful growth in the land of the celestials, always remembering that it is a practical interpretation of the Doctrine of Enlightenment.

Some scholars may however object to this kind of treatment of the subject, on the ground that if Zen is at all a form of Buddhism or even the essence of it as is claimed by its followers, it cannot be separated from the general history of Buddhism in India. This is quite true, but as far as facts are concerned, Zen as such did not exist in India, that is, in the form as we have it to-day; and therefore when we try to go beyond China to trace its origin and development, the only way open to us will be the one I have followed in my previous Essays collected here. That is to say, we must consider Zen the Chinese interpretation of the Doctrine of Enlightenment, which is expounded in all Buddhist literature, most intensively in the Mahayana and more or less provisionarily in the Hinayana. As time went on, this doctrine steadily grew to occupy the minds of the Buddha’s followers and to control the course of development of Buddhist thought generally; for was it not through Enlightenment that Gautama became the Buddha, the Enlightened One? and is it not the object of Buddhism to follow the footsteps of its founder in the attainment of final emancipation? But the Chinese adherents of Bodhism[f77] or the upholders of Enlightenment did not wish to swallow Indian Buddhism undigested. The practical imagination of the Chinese people came thus to create Zen, and developed it to the best of their abilities to suit their own religious requirements.

When we compare Zen as a finished product to the Doctrine of Enlightenment as the latter began to unfold itself in primitive Buddhism, we find a wide and seemingly impassable gap between the two. This was however naturally to be expected. Let us consider the following facts. In the beginning, the Buddha was somewhat timid to disclose the entire secrets of the reason of Buddhahood, thinking that his disciples were not quite capable of following every step he had taken himself. The feeling he first had after Enlightenment governed him almost throughout the entire course of his earthly life. It was this, that the Perfect Supreme Enlightenment attained by him was too exalted an object for sentient beings to strive after, and that even when it were disclosed to them they would not fully comprehend it but might defile it to their own demerit. Did he not even think of passing into Nirvana right after Enlightenment? His whole life, in spite of the advice of the Brahmadeva, seems to have been controlled by this feeling—the reluctance to reveal the entirety of his inmost self-realisation (_pratyātmajñāna_, according to the terminology of the _Laṅkāvatāra_). In point of fact, the Buddha himself might have communicated what he realised to all his disciples unreservedly, but the impression we get from the Agama or Nikaya literature is that he was actually reluctant to do so. At least this was the way the earlier writers of the canonical books attempted to represent their master whatever their motives might be. This being the case, the idea of Enlightenment was not brought forward so fully and conspicuously in Hinayana literature as at once to command our attention. But as I pointed out, this idea lies only superficially buried among the other and less important ideas, and can easily be made manifest by logically and psychologically following up the course of events related in the canonical writings concerning the Enlightenment of the Buddha.

The earlier writers conceived the Fourfold Noble Truth or the Twelvefold Chain of Causation, or the Eightfold Path of Righteousness to be the central teaching of Buddhism, which also included on the psychological side the theory of non-ego (_anātman_). But when we reflect, both philosophically and from the Zen point of view, on the life of the Buddha and on the ultimate principle of Buddhahood, we cannot help thinking of his Enlightenment as the most significant and most essential and most fruitful part of Buddhism. Therefore, what the Buddha really wished to impart to his disciples must be said to have been the Doctrine of Enlightenment in spite of the Hinayanistic interpretation or understanding of what is known as primitive Buddhism. But as long as Buddhism flourished in India, this its central idea remained what it was, that is, such as is developed in most of the Mahayana Sutras. It was only after Bodhi-Dharma who brought it to China that the idea took root there and grew up to what we designate now specifically as the Zen school of Buddhism. The history of Zen, therefore, properly speaking or in its narrower sense, may best be regarded as beginning in China. The Indian soil was too metaphysical, too rich in romantic imagination for Zen to grow as such in its pure form.

While the attainment of Buddhahood or Arhatship was the ultimate goal of his teaching, the Buddha was practical and always close to the facts of life and insisted in his ordinary sermons on a life regulated by moral rules. Nor had he any desire to disclose intellectually or metaphysically the content of Enlightenment which must be experienced but cannot be explained. He never neglected to emphasise the significance of self-realisation, for Nirvana or Enlightenment was to be attained personally through one’s own efforts in one’s own inner consciousness. The Fourfold Noble Truth or the Twelvefold Chain of Causation or the Theory of Non-ego was an intellectual guide to the realisation of the Buddhist life. Such teaching could not have any practical meaning except as finally leading to Enlightenment. The Buddha never thought that his followers would come to lay the entire stress of his teaching on these intellectual structures which could not stand by themselves without being supported by an inner spirit. The Eightfold Path of Righteousness was an ethical guide to Enlightenment, and as such it was regarded by the Buddha. Those who have no higher insight into his teaching than reading a moral signification in it, take it for a kind of ethical culture and no more. They think that Buddhism is a positivism as philosophy and its Brotherhood (_saṁgha_) a body of moral ascetics. They praise the Buddha as the originator of a scientific religious system free from spiritualistic superstitions which so frequently and abundantly grow around religion. But we know better because these comments are not in full accord with the teaching of the Buddha, for they only reflect one side of it and fail to take an inner and comprehensive view of the whole field. If these critics took up the practise of dhyana as constituting the essence of Buddhism along with the above considerations, they may be said to have come nearer to the goal; but even this dhyana is a form of spiritual exercise which will prepare the way to the final realisation of Nirvana. Dhyana in itself does not distinguish Buddhism from the other philosophico-religious systems which existed in India in the day of the Buddha. Therefore, to understand Zen as expressing the Doctrine of Enlightenment which is the reason of Buddhism, we must wait for the rise of the Mahayana movements. And when this was introduced into China by Bodhi-Dharma, it grew up to what we now know by the name of Zen Buddhism.

I

The legendary story of the origin of Zen in India runs as follows: Śākyamuni was once engaged at the Mount of the Holy Vulture in preaching to a congregation of his disciples. He did not resort to any lengthy verbal discourse to explain his point, but simply lifted a bouquet of flowers before the assemblage, which was presented to him by one of his lay-disciples. Not a word came out of his mouth. Nobody understood the meaning of this except the old venerable Mahākāśyapa, who quietly smiled at the Master, as if he fully comprehended the purport of this silent but eloquent teaching on the part of the Enlightened One. The latter perceiving this opened his golden-tongued mouth and proclaimed solemnly: “I have the most precious treasure, spiritual and transcendental, which this moment I hand over to you, O venerable Mahākāśyapa!”[4.1]

Orthodox Zen followers generally blindly take this incident to be the origin of their doctrine, in which, according to them, is disclosed the inmost mind of the Buddha as well as the secret of the religion. As Zen claims to be the inmost essence of Buddhism and to have been directly transmitted by the Buddha to his greatest disciple, Mahākāśyapa, its followers naturally look for the particular occasion when this transmission took place between the master and the disciple. We know in a general way that Mahākāśyapa succeeded the Buddha as the leader of the Faith, but as to his special transmission of Zen, we have no historical records in the Indian Buddhist writings at present in our possession. This fact is however specially mentioned for the first time as far as we know in a Chinese Zen history called _The Records of the Spread of the Lamp_,[4.2] compiled by Li Tsun-hsü, in 1029, and also in _The Accounts of the Orthodox Transmission of the Dharma_ compiled by Ch‘i-sung in 1064,[4.3] where this incident is only referred to as not quite an authentic one historically. In _The Records of the Transmission of the Lamp_,[4.4] written in 1004, which is the earliest Zen history now extant, the author does not record any particular event in the life of the Buddha regarding the Zen transmission. As all the earlier histories of Zen are lost, we have at present no means to ascertain how early the Zen tradition started in China. Probably it began to be talked about among the Zen followers when their religion had been well established in China late in the eighth century.

In those days there must have been some necessity to invent such a legend for the authorisation of Zen Buddhism; for as Zen grew in strength the other schools of Buddhism already in existence grew jealous of its popular influence and attacked it as having no authorised records of its direct transmission from the founder of Buddhism, which was claimed by the devotees of Zen. This was the case especially when the latter made so light of the doctrinal teaching discussed in the Sutras and Śastras, as they thought that the ultimate authority of Zen issued out of their own direct personal experience. In this latter they were quite insistent; but they were not, nor could they be, so critical and independent as to ignore altogether the authority of historical Buddhism, and they wanted somehow to find the record that the Buddha handed Zen over to Mahākāśyapa and from Mahākāśyapa on to the twenty-eighth patriarch, Bodhi-Dharma, who became the first patriarch of Zen in China. A line of twenty-eight Indian patriarchs thus came to be established by Zen historians, while, according to other schools, there were only twenty-three or twenty-four patriarchs after the founder. When the historians had the need for the special transmission of Zen from the Buddha to Mahākāśyapa, they felt it necessary to fill up the gap between the twenty-third or twenty-fourth patriarch and Bodhi-Dharma himself, who according to them was the twenty-eighth. From the modern critical point of view, it did not matter very much whether Zen originated with Bodhi-Dharma in China or with the Buddha in India, inasmuch as Zen is true and has an enduring value. And again from the historian’s point of view which tries scientifically to ascertain the source of development resulting in Zen Buddhism, it is only important to find a logical connection between the Mahayana Doctrine of Enlightenment in India and its practical application by the Chinese to the actualities of life; and as to any special line of transmission in India before Bodhi-Dharma as was established by the Zen devotees, it is not a matter of much concern nor of great importance. But as soon as Zen is formulated into an independent system, not only with its characteristic features but with its historically ascertainable facts, it will be necessary for the historians to trace its line of transmission complete and not interrupted; for in Zen, as we shall see later, it is of the utmost importance for its followers to be duly certified or approved (_abbhanumodana_) by the master as to the genuineness or orthodox character of their realisation. Therefore, as long as Zen is the product of the Chinese soil from the Indian seed of Enlightenment as I take it, no special line of transmission need be established in India unless it is in a general logical manner such as was attempted in my previous Essays.

The twenty-eight patriarchs of Zen regarded by its followers as the orthodox line of transmission are as follows:

1. Śākyamuni. 12. Aśvaghosha.
2. Mahākāśyapa. 13. Bhikshu Kapimala.
3. Ānanda. 14. Nāgārjuna.
4. Śaṇavāsa. 15. Kāṇadeva.
5. Upagupta. 16. Ārya Rāhulata.
6. Dhṛitaka. 17. Saṁghanandi.
7. Micchaka. 18. Saṁghayaśas.
8. Buddhanandi. 19. Kumārata.
9. Buddhamitra. 20. Jayata.
10. Bhikshu Parśva. 21. Vasubandhu.
11. Puṇyayaśas. 22. Manura.
23. Haklenayaśas. 26. Puṇyamitra.
24. Bhikshu Siṁha. 27. Prajñātara.
25. Vāśasita. 28. Bodhi-Dharma.

To be consistent with the view that Zen was a “special transmission from the Buddha outside of his doctrinal teaching,” Zen historians have extended this transmission even beyond Śākyamuni; for, according to tradition prevalent already among primitive Buddhists, there were at least six Buddhas prior to the Buddha of the present kalpa who was the Muni of the Śākyas; and these several Buddhas had each to leave a gāthā of “Dharma transmission” which is systematically preserved in Zen history. Now if the six Buddhas of the past had their gāthās, why not those patriarchs between Śākyamuni and Bodhi-Dharma, all inclusively? Or, if any one of them had at all any kind of gāthā, why not the rest of them too? So, they have all bequeathed their gāthās of transmission regularly prefaced with the words: “I now hand over to you the eye-treasure of the Great Law, which you will guard and ever be mindful of.” No doubt they are fictitious productions of the historical imagination which was so highly exercised by the early writers of Zen history, evidently inspired by an extraordinary zeal for their orthodox faith.

The translators of these patriarchal verses are, according to the author of the _Records of the Right Transmission_, Chih-chiang-liang-lou,[4.5] of the First Wei dynasty, and Na-lien-ya-shê,[4.6] of the Eastern Wei; the former came from Middle India and the latter from Kabul. Their book known as the _Account of Succession in the Law_[4.7] disappeared after the repeated persecutions carried out by the reigning dynasties, but the stories of these patriarchs were quoted at least in the two books, the _Pao-lin Ch‘uan_[4.8] and the _Shêng-chou Chi_,[4.9] both compiled prior to the _Transmission of the Lamp_, in which they are referred to. But they too were lost some time after Kaisu (Ch‘i-sung) in the Sung dynasty. Therefore at present the _Transmission of the Lamp_ is the earliest history of Zen where the twenty-eight patriarchs and their verses of law-transmission are recorded in detail.

To quote as samples two of the six Buddhas’ gāthās, the first Buddha Vipaśyi declares:

“This body from within the Formless is born,
It is like through magic that all forms and images appear:
Phantom beings with mentality and consciousness have no reality from
the very beginning;
Both evil and happiness are void, have no abodes.”[4.10]

The gāthā of the sixth Buddha, Kāśyapa, who just preceded the Muni of the Śākyas, runs thus:

“Pure and immaculate is the nature of all sentient beings;
From the very beginning there is no birth, no death;
This body, this mind—a phantom creation it is;
And in phantom transformation there are neither sins nor
merits.[4.11]

When the Buddha belonging to the present age ordered Mahākāśyapa to be the orthodox transmitter of the Good Law, he uttered the following verse:

“The Dharma is ultimately a dharma which is no-dharma;
A dharma which is no-dharma is also a dharma:
As I now hand this no-dharma over to thee,
What we call the Dharma, the Dharma—where after all is the
Dharma?”[f78][4.12]

The sixth patriarch Dhṛtaka has:

“Penetrate into the ultimate truth of mind,
And we have neither things nor no-things;
Enlightened and not-enlightened—they are the same;
Neither mind nor thing there is.”[4.13]

The twenty-second patriarch, Manura, gave his view thus:

“The mind moveth with the ten thousand things:
Even when moving, it is serene.
Perceive its essence as it moveth on,
And neither joy nor sorrow there is.”[4.14]

In these gāthās we notice the teaching generally characteristic of Mahayana Buddhism as it prevailed in India. As I said before, as far as the doctrinal side of Buddhism was concerned, Zen had nothing particularly to offer as its own; for its _raison d’être_ consists in its being a spiritual experience and not in its being a special system of philosophy or of certain dogmas conceptually synthesised. We have Zen only when the Mahayana Buddhist speculation is reduced to the actual things of life and becomes the direct expression of one’s inner life. And this did not come to pass until Buddhism was transplanted into China and made there to grow nourished by a people whose practical turn of mentality refused to swallow the Indian tradition undigested. The form of thought as adopted in the so-called patriarchal verses did not appeal to the Chinese mind. When they got into the thought itself, they wished to express it in their own way, they wished to live the thought as was natural to them, and not to hoard it as something imported from abroad and not inherently belonging to their psychology.

When Bodhi-Dharma gave his full sanction to his disciples, he is supposed to have composed the following gāthā:

“The original reason of my coming to this country
Was to transmit the Law in order to save the confused:
One flower with five petals is unfolded,
And the bearing of fruit will by itself come.”[4.15]

By this “bearing of fruit” did Dharma prophesy the full development of Zen later in China? The “five petals” are supposed to mean the five Zen Fathers in China after Dharma when Zen came to be recognised as a branch of Buddhism with a message of its own. Whether this gāthā was really a prophetic one by Dharma himself, or whether it was composed by some Zen historian after the sixth patriarch Hui-nêng (Yeno), we have no means to decide. The one thing is certain historically that Dharma’s teaching began to be naturalised in China about two hundred years after him and assimilated by her people in a manner best suited to their mental idiosyncracies. Zen in the form we have it to-day could not mature anywhere outside China. India was too metaphysical, or too given up to mystic imagination. It was the home for the Yuishiki (Yogācāra), the Shingon (Mantra school), the Kegon (Avataṁsaka), or the Sanron (Śūnyatā or Mādhyamika). As for Zen, it needed a mind which had already been deeply steeped in the Laotzŭan ideas and feelings and yet could not detach itself from the details of daily life. Aloofness, romanticism, a certain practical temperament, and yet an even, steady, well-balanced character—these were needed to develop Zen to its present form. That is to say, if Mahayana Buddhism as was expounded by Nāgārjuna and Aśvaghosha, and in the _Vimalakīrti_, _Prajñāpāramitā_, and other Sutras, especially in the _Laṅkāvatāra_, were not worked upon by Chinese genius, Zen as such could not at all have come into existence.

It may not altogether be out of place here to show by concrete examples how much the Indian method diverges from the typically Chinese one in demonstrating the truth of Zen Buddhism. As I have repeatedly illustrated, Buddhism, whether primitive or developed, is a religion of freedom and emancipation, and the ultimate aim of its discipline is to release the spirit from its possible bondage so that it can act freely in accordance with its own principles. This is what is meant by non-attachment (_apratishṭita-cittam_). The idea is negative inasmuch as it is concerned with untying the knots of the intellect and passion, but the feeling implied is positive, and the final object is attained only when the spirit is restored to its original activity. The spirit knows its own way, and what we can do is to rid it of all the obstacles our ignorance has piled before it. “Throw them down,” is therefore the recurring note in the Buddhist teaching. The Indian Buddhist way of impressing the idea is this: A Brahman named Black-nails came to the Buddha and offered him two huge flowering trees which he carried each in one of his hands through his magical power. The Buddha called out, and when the Brahman responded the Buddha said, “Throw them down!” The Brahman let down the flowering tree in his left hand before the Buddha. The latter called out again to let them go, whereupon Black-nails dropped the other flowering tree in the right hand. The Buddha still kept up his command. Said the Brahman, “I have nothing now to let go. What do you want me to do?” “I never told you to abandon your flowering plants,” said the Buddha, “what I want you to do is to abandon your six objects of sense, your six organs of sense, and your six consciousnesses. When these are all at once abandoned and there remains nothing further to be abandoned, it is then that you are released from the bondage of birth-and-death.”

In contrast to this plain though somewhat round-about talk of the Buddha, the following case of Jōshu (Chao-chou)[f79][4.16] is direct and concise and disposes of the matter in a most unequivocal manner. A monk came and asked the master,[4.17] “How is it when a man brings nothing with him?” “Throw it away!” was Jōshu’s immediate response. “What shall he throw down when he is not burdened at all?” “If so, carry it along!” The Zen masters delight in paradoxes, and Jōshu’s remark here is a typical one.